The Fight for a Brighter Dawn
by Svetlaena Quel'Ivan
Summary: The Empire is in chaos. The Dragon Throne sits empty, and Tamriel is under siege from the Daedra of Oblivion. Any hope for a future rests in the hands of a priest of Akatosh, a fiery young Redguard warrior, and an only somewhat reformed Breton thief. *Part Two of Carolara Moorhart's saga, sequel to "Too Far From Heaven".*
1. Prologue

As weeks passed and winter settled on the Jerall Mountains the reports began to come in from every province in the Empire. Gates to Oblivion were opening everywhere from Elsweyr to Morrowind, and in escalating numbers in the weeks since the Mythic Dawn had their holy book, the Mysterium Xarxes, stolen from their shrine. The setback only drove them to step up their offensive. To the east, the Dunmer city of Ald'ruhn became the first city since Kvatch to be burnt to the ground. The ancient Crystal Tower of Summerset Isle, far to the southwest, fell not a week after, and the Altmer province had been in complete political upheaval ever since. With the invasion so widespread, there was no one that could come to the aid of the Blades and their yet crownless Emperor. They were alone.

While things were relatively quiet at Cloud Ruler Temple, all its denizens could feel that a storm was coming. The onset of winter meant the battlements had to be swept off every day, and wood was always in need of gathering from the forest below to keep the fire in the Great Hall lit. It was the drafty old fortress's only heat source so the dark forest was braved several times each week by a single Blade while his or her comrades nervously kept watch from above.

The mysterious figures that lurked and watched only seemed to appear by cover of night. At first Baurus went down into Bruma nearly every other day to speak to the guard, ask around, search the city for clues. But time and time again he came up with nothing, a degree more irritated with every dead end. Eventually he was getting so that he quickly lost his temper and had a couple of confrontations with Bruma's hard-headed Nords. After this Jauffre took over the search himself, leaving the Redguard to pace around Cloud Ruler in frustration.

When he wasn't assisting with matters like snow buildup and firewood, Baurus took it upon himself to keep watch over the Septim heir. Day and night Martin sat hunched over the Mehrunes Dagon's holy book, trying to coax out its evil mysteries, surrounded by reference texts; some from the library in the Temple itself but most on loan from the Bruma Mages' Guild. While in the first week he was translating at a feverish pace, he fast hit a wall, unable to progress further. What the Imperial knew of these dark arts told him not a single stroke of ink on these pages was an accident, but parts of it were completely unable to be interpreted by any known language or symbolism.

And then sleep became harder and harder for Martin to come by and when he couldn't find rest, he would just get back up and start working again, no matter the hour. All any of his sworn protectors could do was voice an occasional word of concern or encouragement. None of them were qualified to help and they knew his efforts might be their only chance. With reports from the Blades outposts in distant provinces coming in every few days or so, and none of them particularly optimistic, they stood by and tensely waited, wishing they could do more.

Easily the most frustrated of them all during this period of helpless waiting was Carolara Moorhart, the newest of their ranks. The wounds she'd sustained on the mission that brought them the Xarxes kept her unable to do much of anything for about a fortnight. The Breton stayed in the Great Hall on her mat and made sure the fire stayed strong; it gave her the feeling of usefulness. Eventually once Martin's healing and her own persistence had her walking more she did small tasks like tidying up and making hot tea for her Emperor and fellow Blades to ward off the cold. It would be some weeks before she was deemed strong enough by Jauffre's assessment to go out scouting and gathering, but she was grateful when the day came. Despite it being very pleasant to spend so much time at Martin's side, Carolara vastly preferred being useful.

Before she put her leathers back on for the first time in weeks, the small copper-headed woman lined up a pair of mirrors to be able to see the damage to her back. The bandages had come off some time ago but only recently had it stopped being tender and sore, though the flesh had felt strange under her fingers in the bath. Now she could see why; spanning nearly from one shoulder-blade to the other was a horrible burn scar. The sigh that escaped Carolara was one of acceptance; for mistakes, there are consequences, right? No, she wouldn't see it as a punishment. The Breton smiled at her reflection and began to put on her scouting armor with optimistic resolve.

_It's a reminder that I'm still alive,_ she told herself. _I may have not done everything just right, but I'm still alive, and that means I can still help fight the Mythic Dawn. I can still protect Martin and save innocent people from dying._ Her eyes strayed to the scar one more time before covering it up with her cuirass. She recalled the blur of garbled memories from her arrival at the Temple, the Imperial's voice and magics calling her back from not death, but somewhere between._ I may have saved him before, but I still must thank him properly for saving me. With actions. Words are just words. My gratitude, my... feelings, these things will strengthen my service to him and to our cause._

The sun had set an hour before Carolara was ready, but she had been waiting for the darkness anyway. Bow slung over herself and a quiver of arrows on her hip, half of the fletchings bearing the green stains indicative of poison, she walked up beside Arcturus on the eastern sentry tower.

"Any sign of them?" she inquired, holding her hand over her mouth so any watching couldn't read her lips.

"Right after sunset I saw something move on the east side," he answered, following suit. "Nothing since. Could just be deer."

Carolara nodded, scanning the forest herself and seeing nothing unusual yet. "Right, well, tell anyone who asks I'm going hunting then," she chuckled and her fellow Blade at least cracked a smile. "Ah, but really Arcturus, please don't let anyone come in the woods after me unless it's past midnight and I haven't returned."

He snorted. "Good luck, new-blood. None of us have been able to sniff those sneaky rats out yet."

As the Breton walked away and outside the massive gates for the first time in weeks she just smiled, holding herself back from saying anything too confident and dooming her own luck. While she kept her ego silent, however, that didn't mean it wasn't there somewhat; oh, she'd be cautious of course, but it was rare that Carolara Moorhart met someone who was sneakier and more wood-wise than herself.

She was surprised at how long it took her to find signs of humanoid activity, but once she stumbled across them there was a definite trail. At the end, a hill shrouded by thick foliage that would make an excellent vantage point to watch the Temple from. They had not yet come out that night. Perfect. Hurriedly Carolara reached into her bag and retrieved a length of rope, smirking in the moonlight, amused by her own idea.

* * *

An hour later, there was movement on the still path. Travelling with no light but that of the moons, when they decided to show themselves, was a Dunmer woman in simple commoner's linens with a thick cloak. She moved down the unmarked trail with practiced ease, almost completely silent.

Carolara had to admit to herself she was a bit impressed by how stealthily the Dark Elf moved; she'd be more impressed if she got around what was coming, though.

But she didn't. The Dunmer stepped right into the loop and from beneath strategically placed snow a rope suddenly tightened around her ankle, hoisting her up into the air. The unwitting prey yelped in surprise, struggling to no avail.

When the Breton came out of the brush with her arrow trained on the woman's head, she seemed to realize what was going on and glared at the Blade, pursing her lips together defiantly and going still.

"Ah, look at this. I've caught a big one, I have." Carolara smirked. "Right then. Out with it."

The Dunmer just spat on her, eyes never leaving her enemy's.

Rolling her eyes the Breton lowered her bow to wipe the insult on the back of her wristguard and then rubbed that against a nearby tree. "I already know who you're working for, cultist, so let's not waste time. Talk."

"Kill her if you want. She doesn't fear death," another voice came from behind, and Carolara froze in place. She felt something weighty, metal, and ice-cold against the back of her neck and it was all she could to not jerk away. "And neither do I. Those who die in the service of Lord Dagon shall be raised above other mortals and rule in the coming age."

The way she spoke suggested a Redguard but the Breton didn't dare turn her head to look. Her heart pounded but she wasn't completely surprised. All the reports had suggested more than one... and she had, in fact, taken this into account when she set her trap. She needed a moment, however, and Carolara loved a good bluff.

"Wait!" she spoke in a shaken tone, closing her eyes in the appearance of fear but trying to lock onto something mentally. "I... I was almost part of the Order once. We're supposed to be family, right? Let me just g-go, and I'll go get you the Xarxes back. Just please, don't..."

The second cultist came around to the front, keeping her sword against the Breton's throat the whole time. Carolara kept her bow down, eyeing the dark-skinned woman nervously. She just needed another few seconds, it was almost here...

"I'm not sure I believe you. You're not exactly known for telling the truth," the Redguard's eyes narrowed, "Carolara Moorhart, formerly wanted in three provinces for thievery, fraud and blackmail, now the lap-dog of the last pathetic Septim."

The Blade tried not to scowl, but she definitely felt her blood heat up when the cultist elected to insult her Emperor. "You sure know a lot about me."

A laugh, one that didn't sound quite... right. Carolara couldn't help but notice that the woman's pupils were unnaturally dilated and she was starting to really fear for her life. "You made a mistake coming out here alone, Blade. But don't worry; soon the rest of your fellows will be joining you, one after the other, and then your precious Dragonborn will be sacrificed to Lord Dagon."

The Breton gripped her bow tightly, but relaxed when she caught sight of something just beyond her opponent. "Alright, alright, you've called my bluff. I commend you, but I'm afraid you're the one making the mistake, Miss."

"Oh?"

"I didn't come out here alone."

The Redguard had no chance to respond; the wind knocked out of her under the massive pile of fur and power that had just pounced on her from the brush. The mountain lion, eyes glowing faintly with the influence of magic, fell upon the cultist with such savagery that Carolara had to turn away. She wiped away the droplets of blood that ran from the light scratch left on her when the woman had been tackled and the sword dragged on her skin, but it was a sting and nothing more.

The Breton steeled herself and approached, searching the bloody pockets and coming up with nothing. She locked eyes with the beast and it understood her will, dragging its late-night dinner off into the woods so she didn't have to look at it anymore. While she had never been an expert on magicka, her Breton blood gifted her with some slight innate talent; in her case, the arts of illusion, and beasts were among the easiest things to charm.

Her attention went to the Dunmer now, who didn't look all too impressed by that display. "Well, if you're not going to talk now, maybe my fellow Blades can get you to." Carolara took out some smaller lengths of rope and bound up the woman's hands and ankles while she still dangled. The elf felt incredibly tense, and the Blade sensed that she was trying to find a way out; wary, she went to untie the rope suspending her and ease her down to the ground.

The second the cultist hit the ground she incinerated the ropes binding her. Carolara cursed aloud but was immediately forced to dodge a barrage of fire. Hot water and steam erupted at her heels, magical fire colliding with the snowpack as she ran, the Dunmer's aim just barely off, and the Breton threw herself behind a rock formation. She took the moment to pull a poisoned arrow and nock it; this one had no intention of going quietly. In her mind, it had at least been worth it to try.

The cultist was coming and the Blade forced her to chase around the rock for a few moments, and then she darted into the thick trees. A spear of ice impaled the truck of a nearby aspen and her breath hitched. Entirely too close. She began to make herself move faster, zigzagging this way and that, leading the elf on a wild pursuit through the forest. Soon enough she began to gain some distance and it was harder for her opponent to aim properly. The more she pressed on, the more the mage was losing sight of her. Carolara's breath came in ragged gasps and the icy night air was making her hoarse but she knew the Dunmer had it much worse. Sorcerers weren't exactly known for their rigid exercise regimen, after all.

Soon Carolara saw a fireball soar into a tree that was nowhere even near her, and she knew the woman had lost her. This was her chance. Forcing her breathing to slow so that her head would stop spinning she pulled herself up into one of the trees and got into the thick of the foliage. Once she was hidden and clear-minded enough she called out, "Ey! Stupid blue elf!"

A lightning spell flew her general direction, but at ground level. It was working. The exhausted but furious mage came into view some moments later and she took aim.

While the Dunmer was looking about, brimming with anger and confusion, she stepped right into the perfect line of sight and Carolara called out to her again. "Up here!"

Cursed red eyes met the Breton's brown ones. A spear of ice and a poisoned arrow crossed paths. The cultist fell, dead seconds after hitting the ground. Carolara dropped out of the tree, of her own volition however, just in time to dodge the spell flying her way and she stood in the once again silent forest, victorious.

Taking a deep breath, the Blade looked up at the two moons. Midnight had just passed; her superiors were likely wondering where she was, many had probably seen the commotion and magic flying around, and it wouldn't do to leave her friends worrying. She was certain they'd be happy to have some good news for once.


	2. Lines in the Snow

The atmosphere in Bruma was unusually tense.

The Nords were, of course, a hearty people of the north who feared little, but spirits were running low. It was an especially cold and stormy winter this year, following up a dry summer. And as if the small harvest and bracing weather weren't bad enough, the city couldn't get any assistance from her neighbors. The Daedra held all the major roads as well as the pass into Skyrim, and the rocky wilderness around Bruma was impassible with any reasonably-sized haul of supplies.

Without any means to get goods in or out, the city was withering slowly. Some of the shops were shut, only about half the stalls were open during the morning market, and everything was three or four times the usual price. It made Carolara's heart sink to think this was probably happening all over Tamriel. The chatter and banter that should have filled the streets of such a populated city had turned to hushed mumblings or quarrels carried out in low but frustrated tones.

A similar air of exhaustion pervaded the guardsmen's barracks, the Breton took note the minute she walked in. Gazing around sympathetically she asked to be directed to their commander, Captain Burd- she had news to deliver.

The weathered, dark-haired Nord met her in the courtyard to listen to her report. Sparing no details Carolara described the two she had tangled with in the forest; the skinny, fiery-headed Dunmer and the Redguard swordswoman. At the verbal illustration of the latter his eyes lit up in recognition.

"Young Redguard lady, shoulder-length dark hair," he rubbed his chin, repeating the Blade's words aloud, "that sounds like Jearl."

"Does she live here in town?" the Breton inquired, gazing down toward the residences curiously. Burd nodded, gesturing for her to follow him.

"If she answers her door in one piece we'll know it wasn't her," said the Nord with a shrug.

"And the elf?"

Burd shook his head. "Not familiar. We don't have many of their kind in town and that doesn't sound like any of 'em I know. Though, who can tell with elves..."

She wasn't terribly surprised to hear this; the Nords and Dunmer had a rather long-standing animosity and didn't co-exist particularly well when put together. And neither race was the friendliest in nature to begin with...

Carolara was taken out of her train of thought by the Captain suddenly stopping in front a door, and she barely avoided colliding with him. He brought up a fist, knocking firmly.

"Jearl, are you up yet? It's Captain Burd, of the Guard."

No reply. The Breton slid over to the front window, scratching off the thin layer of ice with her fingernails and cupping her hands to see in. It was to no avail, however, the curtain was drawn completely over it without so much as a slit to peek through.

Burd tried knocking again. "Jearl, open up. We need to ask you a couple of questions."

The Blade checked for side windows but found none, coming back to the Nord with a shrug. He sighed in reply and began flipping through the keys on his belt. "I'm coming in," he called out. Carolara prepared her bow anxiously when she saw the large man drawing his sword once the door was loose, and in they went, weapons at the ready.

But it was empty. Relaxing, they strode in. The small, one-room home was modest but neat; no dust on the shelves, and a lantern sat on the bedside. Although it was still lit it looked about to run out of oil, the flame was weak. A pot of stew sat on the table with a ladle sticking out of it, the food cold but relatively fresh, and there were not one but two bowls stacked beside it, dirtied with the remnants of dinner. The Nord inspected them a moment.

"Jearl lived alone; or so we thought." He said in grim contemplation. "Something isn't right here."

"Did she ever leave the city?" Carolara asked, looking over the bookshelves. "Particularly at night?"

"My men have been keeping tabs on who comes and goes, as per your Grandmaster's request." Burd pulled open the drawers of the nightstand, gently sifting through the items within in search of anything suspect. "I'd have to look at the records to be sure, but I don't recall seeing her name on them. Not many have been leaving the safety of the walls."

There were no copies of the Commentaries, or even a single book on Daedra to be found on Jearl's shelves. Meaning to search beneath the bed Carolara began to walk over that way across a decorative rug, only to freeze when her step made a most curious, and quite loud, creaking noise on the otherwise stone floor. The Nord took his hand out of the drawer and looked at the floor, and she put her weight on that foot again, resulting in the same sound.

"It feels strange here," the Breton noted. "Help me pull this up."

They fumbled a bit to get the carpet moved but once they did, the cause of the strange noise was perfectly clear; a wooden trapdoor. It took considerably more effort to pull it open, the hinges a bit tough, but light came from below. Another lantern, most likely.

The two nodded to one another and the Captain, sword in hand, went down first. He reappeared at the bottom of the ladder in moments and signaled the all clear, and Carolara joined him. Tucked away in this little basement was a cabinet and a bed, and a small dining area with another still-lit lantern. So much for Jearl living alone. The bed was unmade and a book lay open on the table, upon closer inspection, the third volume of Mankar Camoran's 'Commentaries'.

The Breton picked it up. "This book and the others in its set were written by the Mythic Dawn's leader. It being here, well, I'm afraid it rather confirms my suspicions." She thumbed through the pages, and a folded piece of parchment tumbled out. "And what's this then?"

Burd took this one, unfolding and turning the page. For a few moments he just muttered to himself beneath his breath as he read it, yet before Carolara could ask him to speak up he did. "_'Pending your report on the Septim's activities at Cloud Ruler Temple, and your assessment of Temple defenses and possible routes of escape, we plan to open a Great Gate in the open ground before Bruma as soon as possible.'_"

The Blade paled, silently holding out her hand for the letter and scanning over it hastily once she had it. Sure enough that was what it said. Addressed to Jearl, it also mentioned a Dark Elf-sounding name, so at least the pieces were coming together. Reading it confirmed what she already knew from the spy's words in the forest. They knew where Martin was, and now there was a new horrible certainty that things were going to get worse. First Bruma would fall as Kvatch, and then Cloud Ruler Temple would be cornered.

"My men have proven they can close the Gates that have been opening," the Captain of the Guard spoke with solemn pride, "and we will fight to protect this city until the last man. But we're low on supplies and morale. If they do here what they did at Kvatch..." A sigh. "I don't like to admit it but we don't stand a chance."

"The Blades are fierce, and I'm sure your men are too," she attempted a reassuring smile, but it was gone fast. "But you're right. There are only so many of us, and the Daedra of Oblivion are innumerable." Carolara shuddered slightly, recalling the hellish world inside the Gates... the fire, the searing heat, the nearly toxic air...

"Then we've got to fight smarter, not stronger." Burd looked over the much smaller Breton's head and noticed that where the basement wall should be, there was a dark tunnel. "Where do you suppose that leads?"

She turned and peered at it a moment, "Twenty septims says the forest between the Temple and town."

A dry laugh as the two proceeded into the darkness, taking the lantern from its spot on the table. "I'm not taking that bet."

A short walk proved her right and they came out into the open air and sunshine of the snow-covered forest, both the city and fortress in plain view.

"Spies, operating out of _my_ city." Burd growled once they were out of the dark, claustrophobic space. "We need a plan," he pointed out. "You are on your way to report to Grandmaster Jauffre?"

"Yes."

"We'll go together then. The fates of your Temple and my city are tied now."

* * *

An hour later a solemn meeting commenced within the Great Hall of Cloud Ruler Temple. Around one of the long tables they all sat with a map of Cyrodiil in the center, every spot a Gate had been confirmed to be open marked with a red X. Looking at it this way was sobering for the assembled, and no one spoke while they took it all in.

"Damn," Captain Burd broke the tense silence, his voice laden with frustration. "Every supply line, every evacuation route, cut off."

"They've been very thorough in securing the major roads." Jauffre folded his hands, frowning at the unpleasant observation. "Clearly this was part of the plan all along. Wherever they choose to strike, their target has no way to obtain reinforcements."

Baurus cleared his throat. "Most attempts to reclaim routes in other provinces have led to massive casualties, or at least that's what we've been hearing."

The Nord guard captain rubbed his forehead. "With how things are I can't see any of the other counties having enough men to spare for it to make much of a difference."

"We must hold out... somehow." Carolara sipped her tea, wishing very much that she had something more useful to add to the discussion. She glanced over to Martin curiously as he'd been silent so far, and found him starting hard at the map in some deep concentration. Leaving that alone she went on, looking to Burd, "I'm worried about your civilians. I noticed most of your city is wood; it'll go up like a tinder-box. Are there any passages under Castle Bruma? Any place they can slip out of the city or at least hide?"

The addressed took a deep breath and ran a hand through his short dark hair before resting them both on the table. "The Chapel and Castle are both stone so in a siege we'll try to round up everyone in those buildings. But how long we will be able to hold them is the real question."

"Say each county was able to spare a handful of men, four or five," Martin spoke up at last. "Not counting Kvatch or possible Legion backup that's still about..." A pause for calculation. "Maybe thirty. A decent number."

"Small numbers could pass through the wilderness undetected if they were careful," the younger Breton chimed in.

Captain Burd lit up with newfound confidence. "Even twenty men would be a significant boost to our forces. And if they could each carry a small amount of supplies that would be even better. A fine idea, your Highness."

Rather than shying away as Carolara half-expected him to, the Imperial smiled graciously in response. "Kind words, Captain, but I'm not Emperor yet. I would remain plain Martin for a while."

"I agree that it's a good idea, but this is only possible granted that the rulers of each county have anything to spare at all," Jauffre reminded them, "and yet it's the most solid plan we have. We'll go ahead with it, notwithstanding any further information, of course."

"Should I prepare messages, Sir?" Baurus inquired.

The Grandmaster shook his head. "It's best to handle this a bit more directly. That way we can get a better feel for the situation in the other regions of Cyrodiil." He looked between the two attending Blades, his voice taking on an authoritative tone. "Carolara, Baurus."

"Sir?" both answered quickly.

"I need you both prepared and out the doors tomorrow before the sun is up." The old Breton stood. "I'd like you to split up so we can get those extra men up here all the faster; you can decide your routes among yourselves. Keep quiet about your mission to everyone but the proper authorities. Make sure they know the importance of ensuring Bruma does not fall."

"The Countess will be pleased to hear this." Burd got up as well, bowing rigidly to the Septim heir and nodding respectfully to the rest. "I'm going to inform her immediately."

The remainder of the assembled dispersed their separate ways; Jauffre retreated to his quarters, the Captain shut the Great Hall doors behind him, Martin returned to his seat in front of the Mysterium Xarxes, and Baurus made for the armory in the East Wing. Carolara thought to herself that she needed to make sure her bow and leathers were in good shape, but for now, she could spare an hour or two to get some fresh air on the battlements. The meeting had left a bad taste in her mouth, and despite coming out of it with a decent plan, a nagging worry in the back of her mind wondered if any amount of help they could get would make a difference.


	3. Take the Time

That evening saw Baurus and Carolara at one of the tables in the East Wing, half-organized supplies piled up to the side of a map they were both hovering over. The Breton's attention was split; partly occupied with dividing up their road rations of dried meats and hard cheese, and partly looking at the aforementioned map while her superior spoke.

"The easiest way to do this is to have one of us start off west, in Chorrol, and the other in Cheydinhal to the east." He dragged his finger along the parchment as he explained. "The one who goes west will go on to Anvil and Skingrad. The other proceeds to Leyawiin, and swings back north to Bravil, and then we both head back here."

The distance between Cheydinhal and Leyawiin would be, by far, the longest. It didn't take a measuring implement for Carolara to see that, brown eyes scanning over the miles of wilderness that lay between them. Luckily, it didn't seem avoiding the Daedra on that trek would be a problem, just a matter of picking along the densely-forested Morrowind and Black Marsh borders and avoiding the road that lay on the banks of the Niben. And that far south, it was likely to be much warmer...

"Does it matter which of us goes which way?" the Breton inquired, frowning at her pile of rations and wishing very much that it was a more fruitful season.

Baurus rubbed his chin contemplatively. "No, I suppose not."

"I've been trekking through backcountry for a good portion of my life," she said. "And I can do it quickly. With your permission, sir, I'd like to take the eastern route."

The Redguard shrugged. "It's all the same to me. Very well. I'll head to Chorrol, Anvil, and Skingrad."

She tilted her head, "Not Kvatch?"

"Kvatch was destroyed."

"Well, yes," Carolara nodded in acquiescence, "But a handful of the guard survived, and they might want a chance to get back at the Daedra."

Baurus thought about this for a moment and then nodded as well. "Good point. I may as well drop by to ask on the way to Skingrad." His eyes went to his pile of rations. "Is that all the Grandmaster gave us?"

"I'm afraid so."

An irritated grunt. "Glad I have some coin to take with me. That's not going to cut it."

The Breton chuckled, though she couldn't help but agree. "Right? But I don't blame him for being hesitant to get into the dry stores. If we stop being able to hunt it's all the food we'll have, and it won't last more than a couple of months between the lot of us."

"All the more reason to try and find our own meals while we're on this mission. Do you still have the coin-purse you picked off that cultist?"

Carolara straightened up suddenly, eyes widening and hand going to her forehead. "Oh, damn!"

"Don't tell me you lost it..." Baurus eyed her. "Or somehow already spent it."

"No, no no no no no." She shook her head, pulling her satchel off the floor and setting it in her lap. The Breton dug out the larger purse and set it on the table, and then searched on until she produced a smaller, humbler one. "I've still got it. It's just that I nearly didn't remember to pay Martin back like I promised."

Her fellow Blade couldn't help but be amused. "You're in debt, to our Emperor?"

"Ah, well, I didn't exactly have treasure buried somewhere for when I got out of prison. And we needed supplies after I got him out of Kvatch," she reddened a bit. "I almost completely forgot." The Breton slid off the end of the bench, the smaller purse in hand, "I'll be right back."

But just as Carolara was reaching for the door handle it came open and there stood Martin, a rolled-up piece of parchment in one hand and a weary look about him. She stepped back, startled, and he paused and rubbed his eyes, adjusting to the dim lighting.

"Ah," their Emperor spoke, "I'm glad I caught you both. I've some findings about Mysterium Xarxes to share."

The Breton looked him over worriedly but stepped aside, bowing slightly as she let him into the room. Together they returned to the table. Baurus regarded the heir with a salute and then the three sat together, silent, pensive, while Martin opened the scroll over the map of Cyrodiil.

"I've learned that the Mysterium Xarxes is both the gate and the key to Camoran's Paradise," he explained, tone somber. "In some sense, the book _is_ Camoran's Paradise."

"That would explain why they're so keen on getting it back," Baurus commented.

"Mankar Camoran bound himself to the Xarxes when he created his Paradise, using dark rituals which I will not speak of further," Martin continued with a slight shudder. "The good news is I've determined that a gate to this Paradise can indeed be opened from the outside."

Carolara nodded in comprehension, and yet that statement didn't seem complete. "So we _can_ follow him in... but what's the bad news?"

What followed was a long sigh from the Imperial as he folded his hands on the table, his expression rather hard for either of his Blades to read in the limited light of only two thin candles. "The book mentions four items needed for the ritual, but so far I have only deciphered one of them: the 'blood of a Daedra Lord'. Not an easy thing to come by, obviously."

Baurus snorted. "That's quite an understatement, Sire."

"The Daedric Princes can't physically manifest on Tamriel..." the Breton paused in doubt, knitting her brows quizzically and looking to each of them, "Right? Can they? That's what I always heard."

"The Dragonfires lit by the Emperor were what protected us," Martin affirmed, "but even weakened as those barriers are become they have not yet completely fallen. However, there is another way; Daedric artifacts are known to be formed from the essence of a Daedric Lord, from whence they derive their great power. The ritual would consume it, but it would serve as the keystone we need."

"So," the Redguard spoke up after an uncomfortable silence, "You want us to try to find one while we're on our mission."

"I know it seems like a lot to ask."

"No, not at all," Carolara chimed in reassuringly. "I am... we are, sworn to your service, and sworn to ending this Crisis. We'll find a way."

Martin smiled wearily. "Your confidence is encouraging, but Daedric cults are dangerous, some more than others, and it's them you'll have to go through to make a pact with one of the Daedra. I'd try asking around at the Mages' Guild halls; they're more likely than anyone to know where shrines might be."

"The Daedric Princes aren't really the best of allies." Baurus unsheathed his katana and laid it on his edge of the table, giving it a quick inspection. "Mehrunes Dagon has a few enemies among his kindred who might be willing to give us what we're after for the sake of spite alone."

Carolara crossed her arms, recalling the way it had been told to her in Morrowind and all the strange and lovely temples she had seen. "I remember the Dunmer refer to Dagon as one of the Bad Daedra, and they consider some Daedra to be 'good' and even worthy of worship, like Azura. So this may not be as far out of reach as it sounds."

"I am glad to see you two aren't daunted by your task. If you manage to find one while you're out, send word right away." The Septim heir rolled his paper back up and got to a stand. "I should go and speak to Jauffre on this in case he has some input that would change your orders... I sincerely thank you both for your dedication."

"Wait!" Martin was already halfway to the door when the Breton scrambled out of her seat and ran over to him with the small coin-purse in hand.

He chuckled humbly at the sight of it, "Oh, Carolara, this really isn't necessary..."

"With all due respect," she rushed through the formality, "It is, Sire. I promised. It wouldn't do for a Blade to break a promise to her Emperor."

"Well, I'm not Emperor yet," the Imperial reminded her gently, turning her hand over and placing it back in her palm. "So how about you keep it for now, since you're more likely to need it than I, and then when I am crowned you can fulfill that promise?"

"Fair enough," Carolara conceded with a smile, and with a nod to them both Martin left the room.

"Well," Baurus broke the silence that he'd left behind and his fellow Blade looked to him inquisitively. "If we've got everything nearly ready to go here, which I think we do, I'll be turning in." He stood, stretched, and began to make for the door and back to the West Wing. "Coming? Don't forget; we have to be not just up but out the gates before the sunrise. Grandmaster's orders."

Still smiling, the Breton sat back down at the table and laid her bow on it. "I need to re-string," she said, "I'll get some sleep as soon as I do. I promise."


	4. Under the Glass Moons

Carolara ran as hard and fast as she could, a hand clasped over her mouth, praying her stomach wouldn't turn on her.

"Begone, begone!" the voices behind her shouted, hateful and rasping. She wanted to apologize but it was a bit late for that, just doing her best now to dodge as the disturbed coven flung filth at the fleeing intruder.

The ringleader, a Nord crone with the worst disposition of them all, could be heard clearly above the din of the rest. "Away with you! Away with your hideous light! Never come here again or we shall devour you!"

Finally, the shouting faded out, and the Breton had left the putrid air around the shrine behind. She took a deep breath; only to realize with dismay that her leathers hadn't come out of it all unscathed. In the nearly pitch-black night she couldn't see what unpleasantness clung to her, but she knew she would rather wash it off before the sun rose.

Well, that had been no good. No good at all. One of the elves in the Bruma Mages' Guild had been kind enough to tell her were they had spotted the shrine to Namira and warned her to be careful, but there'd been no warning about their aversion to light. Deep in the forest the followers of the Lady of Decay lived in filth and shunned those that were not repulsive as they were, ways holy to their Daedric Lord. The Breton hadn't meant to offend, only bringing to life a brief magical light so she could see who addressed her, and chaos broke loose. Carolara's chances at an audience with Namira had been shattered, but it was, to say the least, difficult to be disappointed.

There were fourteen more Daedric Princes and their covens to still search for... she wondered if Baurus's luck was any better than hers.

Miles to the west and hours later, the answer was both a yes and a no. The Redguard had followed a set of complicated directions deep into the heart of Cyrodiil's Great Forest. His timing couldn't be much better. The worshippers stood in a circle, arms raised into the air while a Dunmer in ceremonial robes spoke to the statue... and the lizard-headed stone figure spoke back.

Baurus had no love for Daedra worshippers of any sort, particularly as of late, and Molag Bal was one of the worst sorts of Daedric Lord. At worst he had unrestrained hatred for mortals and their plane, and at best he saw them as occasionally useful tools. The Blade didn't exactly feel confident about his chances to strike a deal with the Daedra, and worried as to what would be asked of him, but he steeled himself and stepped out of the brush. This soldier would not again fail his Emperor.

"A lackey of the Emperors has come to my shrine." A sneering, otherworldly voice called the worshippers attention to the newcomer. They only stared, not moving from their spots but the soft chanting of those standing in the circle silenced. In the silence the Redguard strode forward, hand on the hilt of his katana, gazing around himself cautiously. "What do you want, weakling?"

While curious, the Daedra didn't sound as if he had too much patience for lies, so Baurus decided not to risk them. "I come for the Mace, Molag Bal. I wish to make a pact for it."

Muttering among the gathered during a brief silence, after which the voice echoed out from the statue once more. "Bold. Why?"

"To fight back Dagon's armies." It wasn't exactly the full story, but it wasn't a falsehood either. The Blade tried to keep his eyes on the statue, but it was difficult when he could feel the gazes of the coven locked onto him out of view. His hand tensed on his sword, ready to move at a second's notice, but not the least bit fearful.

"Ah. Fighting to save the world... you are a good man. An honorable man." The chuckle was unnerving... and then the tone rose, seemed to resonate in his very bones as the Daedra Lord spoke. "You disgust me. My Mace is meant to spread suffering and death among mortals. It would be wasted in your soft hands."

Baurus felt pretty sure he was the one that felt most disgusted with the conversation here, but he persisted, "Is there no agreement, is there nothing I can offer?"

"Piece of filth!" Molag Bal roared so loudly even the coven was startled. "Leave, before my followers make you sorry you ever came here!"


	5. In the Name of God

Even though it took Carolara far longer than she expected to clean herself after her bad encounter with the coven, it was still too early to seek an audience with the Count when she arrived in Cheydinhal.

The city sat just a short hike through the Valus Mountains away from Morrowind, and its influence could be seen everywhere. Deeply colored timbers cut from the ancient forest that surrounded them boldly accented the pale stone and white-wall buildings, the windows embellished with iron bent into a curved, elegant design. The great Chapel of Arkay dominated the city skyline, its tall steeple visible even over the walls. As Carolara was let through the gate by the wary guardsmen, the chapel bell was ringing, summoning the citizens to morning services.

Kragenmoor came to the Blade's mind; a city probably not even a days' walk from Cheydinhal, provided conditions in the mountain passes were good. It was built similarly, and had by far been the most amicable city that she'd seen in the xenophobic province, likely due to its Imperial-friendly Hlaalu government. Many of the Dunmer that were here now had come because of the greater freedom of religion and trade in Cyrodiil, but they had brought pieces of their home with them.

Services were already underway when Carolara walked in but no-one seemed to mind. The front rows were all filled, mostly with Imperials and a few Altmer, all dressed in their best velvets and silks for worship and sitting up straight and rigid. The other half of the attendees hung in the back, relaxed, some looking this way and that and murmuring to one another in disinterest. As she quietly eased up to find a seat, they barely regarded her. Most were dressed in far plainer linens, and upon a more observant look around, she realized that with a few exceptions they were almost all Dunmer.

The Breton found a seat next to a couple of Dark Elf women in cleaning aprons, and they smiled to her before drifting back to their own conversation. She folded her hands and frowned; it was hard to hear the priest from this far back but she didn't dare lean too close to the Orc that sat in front of her. Nor was there much room to scoot on the crowded pew. Resigning herself to just catch what she could, Carolara shut her eyes in hopes her other senses might be bolstered, and leaned back in her seat.

In moments she felt a nudge on her arm. She opened her brown eyes once more to see a flask being held out to her, out of sight of the clergy. The two maids were looking at her in amusement.

"Here," the one closest to her whispered. "You look like you could use a little of this."

What could it hurt... it wasn't as if she could hear the sermon anyway, the Breton reasoned to herself, accepting the flask with a nod. Besides, she was still so sore from the rough trek downhill and through the thick forest. Looking this way and that first, she leaned down out of sight and took a sip.

Oh, did it burn. So much more than she expected. She had almost forgotten how very potent Dark Elf liquor was. Carolara managed to swallow it but couldn't hold back the spattering cough that followed, and the priestess stopped speaking for a moment. She raised up to see all eyes on her.

"S-sorry." Carolara spoke in the silence, cringing inwardly at how her voice echoed inside the high-ceilinged chapel. "I've a... bit of a cold." A glance out of the corner of her eye revealed the two Dunmer women doing their absolute best not to burst into inappropriate laughter. The elven couple on the other side of her fought back more muted amusement. The Imperials glared in offense. But then the priestess cleared her throat, sighed, and continued on, pretending nothing had happened... and yet there was no way that anyone present had bought the Breton's lie, and she knew it. Bright red, she slipped the flask back to the two, and barely moved a muscle for the remainder of the service.

There had been many Dunmer at the service, but even though she kept watch as the worshippers dispersed, there was no sign of Count Andel Indarys. The only non-Imperial Count, and now apparently, the only one Carolara knew of that did not attend regular chapel services.

Once it let out she figured it was late enough in the morning to pay a visit to Castle Cheydinhal. Crossing back over the Corbolo River that divided the city into its east and west districts, she was once again in awe of how the low-hanging willows and flowering shrubs reminded her of Morrowind. And yet the well-trimmed nature of the gardens, the way everything was just-so and not allowed to grow too wild, spoke of the Imperial love for controlled beauty. This place was indeed an odd, but intriguing, mixture of cultures.

The Castle Cheydinhal was by far the most thoroughly Imperial thing about the entire city, looking nearly identical to all the fortified castles in Cyrodiil. But the Throne Room and thrones were empty. On the smaller one that would have been reserved for the Count's wife sat naught but a bouquet of flowers, wilted and flattened, as if they'd sat there for days. A sword leant on it as well. There was no sign of the Count himself, so Carolara had to flag down one of the guards on duty to inquire.

The Count would see no visitors, he sternly said, but his tune changed somewhat when she said the word 'Blades'. He seemed hesitant to let her in but admitted it might do his lord some good to hear talk of victory. She thought to ask what that meant... but decided she'd rather find out on her own.

Carolara had been to some of the Tribunal Temples in Morrowind, and the room she was led to looked rather similar. It had the same strangely-colored candles, the same dim lights, the tapestries on the wall of Dunmer saints. But the three central figures on the shrine looked different. Andel Indarys himself sat cross-legged on the floor in front of it, only turning his head to regard her when she entered.

"I presume you have something important to say since my guardsmen haven't escorted you out."

Remembering the respectful traditions she had been taught, Carolara took off her weapons, cloak and boots, and set them by the door. She walked up to the shrine barefoot, bowed, and sat beside him in the same pose and he raised a brow at her, intrigued by this Breton that knew Dunmer tradition.

This was going well, she thought to herself. The more comfortable a person is, the more likely they are to listen to you, and she knew this well. "Count Indarys, I am Agent Moorhart of the Blades. I came to ask you for whatever help you can offer Bruma against the Daedra."

He sounded skeptical. "Bruma?" A little distaste was there, too. "Why Bruma?"

"It's... complicated."

Carolara did her best to explain to the Count about the Amulet of Kings, the heir to the throne, the network of blockades and the planned strike on Bruma to isolate the Emperor. All the while the elf nodded as if he understood, but the longer she went on, the more troubled he outwardly seemed... fidgeting, knitting his brows and gazing at the shrine and the floor. Finally when she had finished, there was a silence while he crossed his arms thoughtfully, and then he spoke.

"It was one week ago when the Gate opened, so close to the city you could see it from the walls," he said, his tone distant, head held low. "People started to worry that what happened at Kvatch, at Ald'ruhn, would happen here. My son... he..." A shaking sigh. "Even I found him trying at times, and he spoke and acted before he thought, but he was still my son and I adored him greatly. Years ago he begged me to let him start his own order of Knights. I saw no harm in it. But when we started to sight Daedra near the city gates he took his men and led them all in. Days passed. Nothing came in or out. Eventually I sent the guard in and after a day, the gate closed. The survivors brought me his ring."

"My Lord, I'm so sorry," was all the Breton could think to say after a long pause. "I am... at a loss for words."

"You need not say anything, but I thank you for listening." Count Indarys stood, and the Blade followed suit. "I was not yet finished mourning my wife, so I feel a bit lost, but I must stand strong regardless. My people need me more than ever."

She tried a reassuring smile. "I can see they have a strong leader; they'll be alright."

His gaze drifted to the shrine. "It is ironic. Most of my people here, myself included, crossed the border years ago to escape living under the thumb of the Temple, but in my search for answers I have turned back to them." The Dunmer shrugged. "I suppose things have really changed, though. They follow the Old Ways now, Azura and Boethiah and Mephala as the Tribunal, and the Saints as the guardians of the Dunmer. But, sadly, in their prayers they're not getting any more answers than the Chapel is."

Carolara chuckled. "I always somewhat envied spiritual people. It's that peace that most of them have about them..." she crossed her arms, choosing her words carefully. "In times like this, that spiritualism can bring us hope, but we mortals just have to make the solutions for ourselves."

Count Indarys looked to the Blade with an approving smile. "You say Bruma needs aid. Let the Countess and your Grandmaster know they can count on Cheydinhal."


	6. Don't Look Past Me

Even though Cheydinhal sat above a good deal of the rest of Cyrodiil, it was a welcome break from the cold of the Jeralls, so Carolara found herself taking a walk that night after a few friendly drinks at the Dunmer-run tavern. Sure it was a bit rough around the edges, but it was more relaxed than the Imperials' lodge and considerably cheaper.

On top of that, many of the Dark Elves had freely given her information about where she might find other Daedric Shrines. Telling them she was curious was enough for them, and they spoke in particularly high regard for the Shrines to Mephala and Boethiah that weren't too far from town. One of them, a crimson-haired elf with a charming smile, circled some areas on her map but warned her they weren't terribly accurate. The Breton didn't mind; at least now had some definite prospects to obtain the keystone Martin needed.

Particularly with her head swimming from the ale it was difficult to keep her thoughts away from Cloud Ruler. The bells of the Chapel of Arkay were rung day and night and they sounded off now, counting the hour. One. Two. Three. To the northwest she could see clouds obscuring the peaks; the fortress might be under one of the all-too-frequent snowstorms. Four. Five. She pictured all the off-duty Blades clutching warm teacups in the Great Hall, drawing straws for who was to go out next to knock the icicles away. Six. Seven. Eight. Jauffre would be watching them with that same amused smile, ready to intervene if the loser disputed his or her task. Nine. Ten. And all the while Martin sat nearby, but his mind was in another world entirely and he had lost count of the hours long ago. As always. Eleven. Twelve. She hoped someone would remind him to sleep in her absence. Jauffre probably would.

The clouds that concealed most of the sky kept her from seeing the moons above, and ensured the chapel district was very dark indeed. The only silhouettes she saw were the those of the guards on patrol, few in number, spread rather far. As the Breton was thinking to perhaps slow her walk to allow the patrols to catch up to her, just for the sense of ease, she heard a sound within the breeze.

They thought they were concealing themselves with the sound of the wind, but the rustle had been too different from the gentle sounds Carolara's ears had attuned to. From behind, she estimated. She didn't stop, slow her pace or even turn her head; giving no sign she knew she was being followed yet. The sounds continued as she moved. Chance of coincidence or paranoia dwindled. Her gaze scanned her environment in a way that outwardly seemed casual, but her mind was fighting the haze of ale to kick into gear and find a spot to slip into and hopefully lure her stalker into the open.

Carolara slipped around the corner of a building into a deep shadow, went around to the back, and crouched down, peering back out from a spot very low to the ground. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw a figure standing there just around the first corner she'd passed, perfectly still, clad in hooded crimson robes. A glance around... where were the guards when one needed them? She couldn't see the cultist's face, or even a patch of skin to hint at race, all concealed by the darkness of the moonless night. And they were just... standing there. Looking slowly, eerily around. All the Blade had on her was her skinning-knife. The bow sat useless back in the tavern, and hindsight was always so painfully clear.

Curious, the Breton fully rounded the building and came up behind the cultist. Why wasn't he moving? Turning? She wondered if the handle of her knife was heavy enough to knock him out and began to ready the instrument, creeping up behind the figure...

Of course. It had all been too simple. Carolara should have been more skeptical, and she knew it, but she would have to set regrets aside for later and worry now about the wire that had just wrapped around her neck. She'd just barely managed to get two fingers of one hand under it. They felt like they were being cut off. Whoever was holding this wire was strong. Within a few seconds her vision blurred, but that didn't stop her from seeing the cultist in front of her pull her hood back to reveal a familiar face. It was one of the maids, from the Chapel, and later the tavern... and the one strangling the Breton was probably her raven-haired friend. From her long crimson sleeve the Dark Elf pulled a dagger and began to approach, smiling horribly.

Vision darkening and feeling her neck start to bleed, the Blade swung her foot upwards and kicked the woman back with adrenaline-fueled force square in the face, knocking her to the grass. She then turned her skinning knife around and jabbed it into her first assailant's ribs and heard the elf cry out in pain, but the hold on the wire slacked for only a moment.

"I go to Paradise," the cultist half-hissed into the Breton's ear, "For I will drag your soul to Dagon with me."

Too breathless to respond, Carolara pulled the knife free and sunk it again, and again... and though she doubted the Dark Elf could last much longer neither could see. Consciousness was slipping fast away from her. The knife dropped from her hand, but as her knees buckled, she felt the hold suddenly come loose. Her world spinning she collapsed to her hands and knees, fighting to get her bearings back and see what had freed her.

It was another Dunmer, but this one wore no red. He dropped the still form of the first cultist and turned his attention to the other, who had gotten back to her feet. She stared, wide-eyed, looking between them both as Carolara pulled herself back up, and then she did what no other cultist had done before. She ran.

"Well, that was unexpected," the male elf was saying, running a hand through his tousled crimson hair. He looked down at the shorter Blade. "Are you alright?"

The Breton rubbed her throat, wincing. She felt like hell, but she'd get past it so she simply answered, "I'm fine. Thank you for the save."

"Sure, sure," he said dismissively. "No thanks necessary. Just glad I saw them tailing you out of the tavern. What'd you do to set them off?"

Carolara eyed him. He didn't seem like a local, wearing mostly thick traveler's clothes embroidered with more traditional Dunmeri patterns and a beaded earring dangling from his left ear. "They're part of the cult that's opening those Gates." The words were carefully chosen. "Let's just say I've gotten in their way a few times." She coughed roughly, throat still suffering greatly from the attack and talking aggravating it a bit, but she covered her discomfort with a smirk. "Not that I'm ashamed."

The Dunmer nodded toward the silhouettes of a few guardsmen coming towards them hastily. "Here come the big-shots. Convenient timing on their part, isn't it? Don't worry, I'll stick around and back up your story."

* * *

"Here," the Dark Elf said, breaking the silence that had long reigned in the air now that he was done with his work. He turned to the Breton sitting on the edge of his bed, holding out a long bandage, the end of it slathered in a light brownish muck. "Old Vvardenfell remedy; I brought plenty with me. Leave this on for two days and you won't have a scar marring your pretty neck when it heals."

Carolara nodded in thanks. The medicine stung when applied and made the bandage sticky, but in her experience, if it stung it was probably working. "I never got to visit Vvardenfell," she mused. "The Blight made it impossible to find affordable passage."

His voice was solemnly reminiscent. "Ah. The Blight. I don't miss that one bit. Vvardenfell became a much nicer place once that was taken care of." A sigh, and then a curious glance. "I don't believe I caught your name yet."

"Carolara. Carolara Moorhart."

Turning a chair around and straddling it, the Dunmer smiled. "That's a lovely name. You may call me Nels Llendo. Or anything you like, really."

The Breton put on a smile to mirror his, trying not to fidget under the awkward pressure of his compliments. "It's nice to meet you, Nels. Might I ask why you're traveling while it's so dangerous?"

His cheer faltered a moment and he shrugged, gaze leaving hers for a few thoughtful moments before that was all buried back under the surface. "Home is a tricky word. And that's a bit of a prying question, don't you think?"

"Sorry." Carolara bit her lip, shaking her head. "You're right. I gave you vague answers about my business. I shouldn't expect you to tell me yours."

"I didn't mean it that way." His tone softened just a bit. "I'm looking for a friend of mine. It's just tricky because I have no idea where they are so..." a dry chuckle, "I have to look everywhere. But I've got nothing better to do."

There was a pause while the Breton tried to think of something to say in response to his heavy words, and in the end she came up with, "Wherever they are, I'm sure they're thinking of you, and will be very happy to see you when you find them." Followed by a very long yawn.

"I've kept you up with chit-chat long enough," Nels said, rising from his chair whilst doing a very poor job of hiding his own yawn that hers triggered. "Sleep here so you don't have to worry about waking the innkeeper. Don't worry... I'll be a perfect gentleman."

Carolara raised a brow at him in playful skepticism, and he smirked back. "Right..." She watched as he took a rolled-up blanket and set it beside the bed. "That's me then?"

A scoff from the elf. "Me, of course. As I said, I am a gentleman." He performed an exaggerated bow. "And I'll not have a lady sleeping on the floor."


	7. The Best of Times

"He must really be something else."

Carolara snapped out of her thoughts at Nels's words, confused. "What? Who?"

"I don't know." The Dunmer had a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Whoever it is you're thinking about with that silly smile across your face."

Immediately she reddened, turning away so she didn't have to see him being smug, adjusting her cloak for no particular reason. "I thought we agreed not to pry into each other's business."

"I didn't know it had anything to do with your business until you told me."

Still flushed the Breton glared at her grinning travelling companion for a few short moments, and then sighed as all the anger drained from her face. "I... have really got to start choosing my words better," she said, her voice carrying the weight of perceived failure.

There was a long period of silence. They trudged on through the forest that grew more and more humid and Carolara could still feel his eyes on her, but didn't sense the amusement anymore. Finally he said, "You seem like you're usually not so lax. It's difficult to focus when you're stressed."

"It's difficult to not be stressed in the middle of a crisis."

"Nonsense," Nels gestured dismissively, "Staying calm is the only way to live. I kept from losing it when it looked like the end of the world seven years ago, and I'll keep it together this time too."

The Blade shook her head, her tone disbelieving, "Good on you then, elf, but I guess I scare a bit easier because I didn't grow up near the mouth of hell."

A laugh. "Fair point. But someone told me once that it's hardest to believe in the sunrise when night is at its darkest. We'll all get through it, somehow."

She raised a brow at him, "And if we don't?"

"Then we'll be dead, and we won't care." The Dunmer shrugged and ran a hand through his crimson hair. There was no reading his blank expression. "No one will be left to worry after. We all go to the void, together."

Carolara's heart dropped a bit and she paused in her stride, staring after her companion who kept walking despite her. "That's a horribly bleak thing to say, Nels," she said as she caught back up to his side.

"Humans are always saying we Dunmer are a grim people. I suppose there's some truth to that," he said thoughtfully. "I didn't mean to sadden you. I actually find it comforting."

The small woman hummed quietly in contemplation. "I think the 'together' part is sort of nice, but I'd still rather not die, thank you very much."

"Then your only option is to hope," he said with a good-natured smile, "and, I suppose, keep doing whatever it is you were doing to upset that cult."

Nels was right and she knew it. She couldn't comment any further on the matter seeing as how that would be revealing too much of her mission but their talk had helped, and as they progressed on in quiet once more she felt better.

It wasn't too hard to hope. She could do that. Carolara had great faith in the others. Baurus would let nothing get in his way, nor would any Blade. Jauffre in all his wisdom would use the Blades to their full potential to keep the fortress held against any assault. When she remembered these things she felt some of the weight of worry come off her mind. Even though she couldn't see Cloud Ruler from this far away her heart felt strongly that it was still safe in her comrades' capable hands.

Yes, it was not all lost, not yet. Too early for despair. Martin was talented and capable with magic. No evil book was going to get the better of the Dragonborn. He would force all of Camoran's secrets into the light in due time and untangle the web of Daedric magic keeping him from his birthright. And she would be there to help him reclaim it. Together, they would end this. Her Emperor's gratitude, combined with the privilege of being in his service once crowned, was probably the most satisfaction her heart could wish for...

Carolara felt eyes on her and looked over to see Nels smirking knowingly. The Breton immediately saw a potential misdirection and went for it. "T-the sun's getting kind of low, eh? Best make camp now. Probably won't make Leyawiin till morning if we press on."

* * *

The pair didn't end up actually arriving in the formerly disputed Trans-Niben until well into the next day. It hardly looked like a city in Cyrodiil at all, still bearing the cultural markings of the Khajiit who had only recently handed the territory over to the Imperials. The whole town smelled like swamp, the streets muddy, and the populace mostly beastfolk aside from a few wealthy Imperials that had probably moved there at the behest of the Imperial Count. One could smell the salt of the southern sea in the air, and even though it was wintertime it was still warm and humid enough to make Carolara's leathers stick to her in extremely uncomfortable ways.

Sadly, by the time of their arrival, it was too late to carry out any official business. Not that the Breton would have been comfortable walking into court reeking of wild jungle. Nels took off on his own shortly after arrival, promising to meet her in the larger of the two taverns later that night. Feeling fresher after a long bath but still exhausted, Carolara thought better of wandering around the city in the night after her previous experience, and decided she would be better off just having a drink or two at the bar and waiting for her Dunmer companion.

It caught her eye when the dark-haired Breton walked in, clad in a simple black robe that spoke more of a mage than a clergyman. Practitioners of the arcane, even the most moral, often took scholarly interests in Daedric cults. For the Blade, this meant she could make inquiries without seeming offensive or bizarre, and maybe even get some answers. She watched him for a while before moving over to the stool beside his, regarding her with dark, inquisitive eyes, but he was hardly unwelcoming.

"Don't like drinking alone, do ya?" His tone was casual, but the voice a bit rough. "Me neither. Barkeep!" He waved to the Khajiit publican, "Another round for me and the lady."

Carolara looked to her own glass, still half-full, and just shrugged. If he was drinking heavily, at least his tongue would be loose. She would just have to pace herself... as well as keep a vigilant eye on her own glass. "I'm flattered, really, but I just wanted to ask you something."

He raised his first drink, "Ask away," and downed the remainder.

"You look like you know a thing or two about magic," she kept her tone friendly but hesitant, putting on the same act she'd put on dozens of times before in Bruma and Cheydinhal trying to get leads.

"I'd say I do." The man tilted his chin up a bit, grinning, "Want a lesson?"

"Actually..." She raised her own drink, cautiously sniffing of it before taking a sip and trying not to make a face at the bitterness. Even the sweetest liquors were too strong for her tastes; it was that resultant relaxation her body needed right now that made her push through the dislike. Carolara lowered her tone, looking this way and that before going on, "I'm more interested in Daedric magic than what they teach at the University."

His smile widened in knowing and he leaned close enough that she could see the almost reddish hue to his pupils. "You've come to the right man, my dear."

She cringed back a little, unable to help it. "Is that... so?" The breath was knocked from her when her fellow Breton patted her hard on the back and gestured to her glasses, already getting up from his stool as he did.

"Finish your drinks. I've got something neat to show you."


	8. A Night to Remember

The first thing Carolara noticed was how strange and uneven her bed felt. Soon after that she noticed the headache, it hit her in pounding waves the moment she moved in so much as the slightest way. The Breton groaned lowly and turned to bury her face in her pillow and quickly jerked away despite the pain, staring puzzled at the bushel of various fronds and green branches in her arms that she'd apparently spent the night on.

Her surroundings were immediately unfamiliar and this stirred her quickly to more awareness. The light leathers she usually wore were missing, only a strange dark cloak covering her small form, and she clutched to it for modesty. The gesture itself, however, was empty. Further inspection of her surroundings revealed her to be alone in the swamp, Leyawiin's walls visible just a short distance away.

Carolara was beginning to realize she had no recollection of ending up in such an odd place, without her clothes. Her gaze went to the deep gray cloak draped around her body. Edges trimmed with an intricate pattern done in coarse black threads, a moon and star bleached onto the back... distinctively Dunmeri. She knew this cloak; it belonged to Nels, she was almost certain.

The question of where he was answered itself shortly. He didn't ask how she felt or if she was alright, just striding over with a look of vague puzzlement in his eyes and her leathers folded under his arm. Silently the Breton reached out, gazing up at him pleadingly, and he tossed them on the ground beside her without hesitation or protest. The Elf also seemed keenly aware of her hangover, handing her his water-skin as she dressed. Carolara sipped from it, wary of how her stomach churned but she know just how badly her body needed water at that moment.

"You don't remember a thing, do you?" Nels inquired as she sheepishly handed him his cloak.

The Breton shook her head albeit slowly for the pulsing headache, straightening her dirt-caked hair as best she could, wondering if she looked as horrible as she felt.

"You're going to have a really, really fun conversation with the Leyawiin Guard, then," he laughed, more openly amused now, "They told me they'd like a word."

Oh, how she just wanted to curl up and die at those words. Not only had she somehow managed to act like a drunken idiot while she was supposed to be on a mission, but she had upset the very people she needed to ask for help in the process. How had it gotten so out of hand? She couldn't remember anything past settling in for one, maybe two drinks at the tavern. She was not a frequent drinker. She rarely got past the point of tipsy when she did partake. A lifetime of relying on her sharp senses had left her with a distaste for anything that dulled them. She could already imagine her Grandmaster's disappointment... and Baurus's temper. For a second it crossed her mind that the border to Elsweyr wasn't too far away...

Scolding herself internally for the mere thought of running away, Carolara began to walk back toward Leyawiin with her head low and heart racing. Nels fell into step beside her and she turned to him, hesitantly asking, "So how bad is the damage?"

The Dunmer rubbed his crimson goatee thoughtfully. "I was busy attending my own business when most of it happened. You and some other Breton were running around town... eventually you two grabbed someone's chickens and ran off into the swamp."

Carolara put her hand to her forehead, pace slowing in reluctance. "And so... my clothes?"

"Found them in the room. Neatly folded, on the bed, with a note saying you were going out to have dinner with some friends." A shrug. "Not sure why, or who you were meeting."

"I don't recall a single part of this, but I don't think the guards will just dismiss it because of that." The Blade pulled out her coin-purse from a pocket of her leathers, relieved it was still even there after such a night. The amount she had was sufficient for basic supplies, but if fines in Cyrodiil were anything like they were in High Rock, well, she was just thankful she still had all her dry goods. Didn't she? Her eyes went back to her elven companion. "Where are the rest of my things?"

Nels frowned slightly. "You'll have to talk to Shuravi about that. And good luck; a patch of her fur is still purple this morning because of you."

Meeting with the doubtlessly angry publican, however, would have to wait. First came the angry guards as the two approached the gate, zeroing in on Carolara, who just held her hands out in surrender.

"You've got a lot of nerve coming back into this town," one of the men said. "I hope you're here to pay your fines."

"I am," the Breton ashamedly said, not taking her eyes off the ground but for fleeting glances. The one that had addressed her seized her by the wrist while his compatriot opened the gate.

"Wait! Where do you think you're going?" she heard Nels saying in protest, keeping up with the swift-paced guard as they began to walk Leyawiin's streets.

She smiled over her shoulder to him. "Nels, it's okay, really I can ha-"

But the Dunmer's attention wasn't on her, resisting the second guardsman who was trying to keep him back from the arrest in progress, "Where's my bounty? I brought you the criminal. Now I expect my coin."

The guardsman released him while Carolara's smile dropped away, replaced by shock. There was silence as Nels followed them, a smile on his face, not even looking at the Breton who never took her eyes off him.

"You sneaky little worm," the Blade hissed at him as the doors of Castle Leyawiin were opened before them.

Nels winked at her. "Don't be angry with me, sweetheart. Be angry with the system."

And angry she was as they were led down into the dungeons to handle the matter, but most of that was directed at herself. It was a futile frustration only made worse by the fact that she had no memory of her idiocy. It was hard to keep her mind from concocting ways to make excuses for what happened, but she fought it down. The woman waiting for them behind a desk in front of the entrance to the prisons was, by the make of her armor, the acting Captain. The worst person for the nervous Blade to be embarrassed in front of, short of the Count himself.

The silence persisted once they were inside the office, the Imperial Captain reading over the list of offenses and occasionally giving the accused a puzzled glance over the edge of the parchment. At length the guardswoman tied her long hair into a messy bun with a strip of leather, laid out a blank sheet, and dipped her quill in preparation for some good old Imperial bureaucracy. "Alright, let's get these fines calculated... name, please."

Carolara was about to speak but Nels shoved his way in front of her, leaning on the desk with a grin, "Excuse me, my dear Captain Draconis, but this seems like it's going to take a long time and I'd prefer to not have to wait very much longer for my reward."

The Captain scowled at him but sighed in resignation and pulled a metal strongbox from its place at her feet, setting it on the table with a loud noise. A key at her belt loosed the lock and though she opened it at such an angle that the Breton couldn't see the money itself, she could see the shimmers reflected on the Imperial's face and on the wall behind her. Once she had the sack tied up it was nearly thrown at Nels, who caught it deftly and performed his little bow.

"Don't you spend it all in one place, now." Carolara muttered disdainfully.

His response was to just smile and pull her into an embrace, and she dared not push him away or strike him in the presence of already tense guards... no matter how badly she wanted to. Once he was gone the Captain just shook her head in vague disapproval and continued about her business, registering the shamed Breton's information as she gave it. Finally the moment came and the amount was announced.

"Eighty-five drakes."

Another wave of headache washed over Carolara and she repeated, incredulous, "Eighty-five!"

Captain Draconis narrowed her eyes, an edge to her tone. "It's that or six days."

The gold she had, just barely, but she couldn't afford for her mission to be hindered by so much time. For a moment she thought to invoke her status as a Blade and her assignment... and yet it would only bring shame to their name and hers. Her instinct to hide behind something could not take hold. It was already going to be hard enough to gain a respectful audience with the Count of Leyawiin after establishing such an ill repute in his city. The fewer people that associated that behavior with the Blades, the better.

Carolara reached into her pocket for the two small purses; the total would have to come out of what she owed Martin as well. A heavy-hearted sigh escaped her... but then, confusion. Feeling around a bit more confirmed her suspicion. There were not two, but three coin-purses there. The Breton removed the one that felt the most unfamiliar beneath her fingertips, and immediately closed her hands around it, turning away to count.

Out of the Imperial woman's sight she couldn't help but smile, for in her hands was the very same purse that Nels had just claimed as a bounty... and its contents paid off the fine with a few to spare.

The Dunmer was leaning on the wall, smirking at Carolara knowingly as she emerged from Castle Leyawiin. "So," he inquired. "Do you take it back?"

"'Worm', yes. 'Sneaky', no. That was brilliant, Nels. Thank you." She laughed as he tilted his chin up proudly. "I'd say don't let it go to your head but I see it's already there."

"You're not out of trouble yet," the elf pointed out. "You may have made yourself right with the Imperial law, but that doesn't make a lick of difference to some of the people you upset. And one of them has your bow and staff."

His words were grounding, and Carolara nodded, suddenly very aware that the townspeople were giving her strange glances as they walked through the streets under the hot afternoon sun. But then she paused in her stride, tilting her head as her mind replayed his words. Staff? She had never carried a staff...

_"Finish your drinks. I've got something neat to show you."_

_Head swimming a little bit the Breton followed her kinsman up the stairs of the inn and to his rented room. He knelt beside the bed and pulled out a metallic case from beneath it of plain make, but with five locks. One by one he unlatched them all with a series of keys on a chain around his neck, and lay it open._

_Within lay a beautiful staff made out of wood so dark it appeared black. The shape and flow of the wood itself was so perfect it was out of this world, and it was crowned by a blood-red rose. Like an inquisitive child the Blade reached out to touch it, and the sorcerer swatted the back of her hand gently._

_"Tsk-tsk," he chided. "No touching. You like it?"_

_"It's beautiful," Carolara said breathlessly._

_"It's a Daedric artifact," a grin formed on his lips. "And, you can have it."_

_After a moment of stunned silence. "Really?" Then, skepticism. "What's the catch?"_

_The mage rubbed his hands together excitedly. "There is no catch! Listen. This place is really dull, and I've got a plan to fix that! All I want in exchange for the staff is your help..."_

Carolara shook her aching head, reorienting herself as Nels snapped his fingers before her eyes. "You going to retch?" He bluntly inquired.

"No..." Then a turn of the stomach at the thought, and she wasn't so sure anymore. "Don't talk about it though. Come on." She took the lead in spite of her discomfort, the recollection fueling her drive, though she dared not speak her reasons. "We've got things to take care of."


	9. Along For the Ride

It was made more than clear that Carolara Moorhart was no longer welcome at that Inn when the Khajiiti sisters threw all of her belongings into the street. She didn't recall trying to dye one of their own with wine, but the evidence was all there, mostly in the form of stained fur. The thought of a violet cat was rather amusing, but she kept that to herself while she paid off the cost of her damages and was afterward ushered out with all the grace her actions had earned her.

The Breton flinched as the door was shut behind her and knelt down to open the now-muddied satchel. Everything had been jostled out of place. Between the tavern-keepers and the livid farmers nearly all her coin had been drained, all by the course of a few stupid actions. Cheap wine commanded the same cost as top shelf. Livestock would nearly be impossible to replace. It made her feel all the more guilty; what would be a nuisance any other time was far more damaging in a crisis. By the end of it, she had been forced to dip into her loan, for it was all that remained.

"I got my things back," the Blade said to her Dunmer friend, who was leaning on a lamp-post just where she had left him.

"But not your dignity, I think." He tilted his head curiously. "I don't see the staff you told me about."

"That's the thing," she brought the satchel around to the front and opened it up, fishing around inside. "I don't either. You're certain you saw it?"

Nels nodded in the affirmative, "Black staff with a rose on the top. Was laying right next to your bow." He cast a suspicious glance back toward the tavern she had been booted out of. "I wonder if they kept it as extra payment."

But Carolara was drawing out a sheet of parchment she didn't remember being there before... and found a message written upon it in exquisite script.

_I owe you one staff._  
_Love, Sam Guevenne, Bravil._

"Looks like we're going to Bravil... but I have one last thing to tend to here."

* * *

The small Blades agent wasn't the only party that needed audience with Marius Caro that day.

On her way in she had walked just behind a few rough-looking Khajiit carrying unlabeled crates, hoping they would branch off and go elsewhere but they didn't. Then one just shoved past her, not even bothering to sidestep even though the room was plenty, regarding the Breton with a cold snarl over his shoulder as if challenging her to protest.

"Fine, fine," she slowed her pace and averted her eyes, "You were here first."

Carolara literally could not afford any more trouble.

"Your Graces," the lead Khajiit's tone was mocking and there was a toothy grin on his face. "Ri'Darsha has come again to share his bounty."

Moving off to the side of the passageway, the Breton crossed her arms over each other and watched. The Imperial Count and Countess exchanged uncertain glances and intertwined hands, a silent communication passing between them before Count Marius nodded. His wife's nervous eyes were fixed on the others that had come in as they stacked their crates in a corner of the room.

"The people thank you, Ri'Darsha. Are you sure you won't accept coin?" the ruler of Leyawiin inquired in worried tones.

The shady beast-folk chuckled to each other as if sharing a private joke. "Coin? No, no. Despite what your kind believes, Ri'Darsha is principled." His tail swayed coolly. "_Ahzirr Durrarriss_. We give freely to our people, but do not mistake. Ri'Darsha simply expects his actions... to be remembered."

From her angle, Carolara could not see the anxious stare-down that seemed to take place between Khajiit and Imperial, but it went on for an uncomfortable amount of time.

"They will be. You have my word."

"That is good." The statement almost sounded like a purr and then the small gang turned about and left, eyeing the Breton on their way out.

"Oh," the Countess groaned in frustration and Carolara halted in her advance, wondering if she had just come at the worst possible time. The Imperial woman rubbed her forehead and leaned back in her throne. "Darling, I don't know how much longer I can take letting those Renrijra Krin into our city. They're so horrible."

"I know, love." Marius tried to calm his wife, "But we must. Our people need supplies-"

"_Our people_?" She snapped, pulling her hand away from his attempt at comfort, "They make us give more than half of it to those filthy cats! What good is it to _our people_?" This appeared to be more than the pale woman could take, rising from her throne and storming out of the room... the Breton sure she hadn't so much as been noticed.

That changed when the Count slumped back into his throne with an exasperated sigh and an expression that suggested this was quite common; and spotted her standing there at long last. "Enter and state your business," he said dully, motioning her forward.

Carolara folded her hands in front of her, reminded herself to relax her shoulders and raise her chin, and proceeded. Everything she knew of court manner came from watching others but it seemed to suffice.

"Your Grace," she said from the low point of a bow, "I come on behalf of the Blades of Cloud Ruler Temple, with a request from the Emperor."

He raised a skeptical brow. "Then perhaps you have heard that there is no Emperor."

"There is an heir. He calls for Leyawiin's help."

When the Breton straightened up, the uncertainty on the Count's face had almost been entirely replaced with surprise, and perhaps even relief. "We were almost certain that was just a wild rumor..."And then, hesitation. "What proof does this Prince have?"

She found herself at a somewhat troubling loss for words, and averted her gaze. What could she possibly show that would make him believe? While she was at it, on what basis did she believe, aside from Jauffre's word? And the cult's attacks...

"I'm afraid, your Grace, that the only proof I can give is the good of my own word as a Blade, my personal faith that he is indeed the Dragonborn we seek, and the fact that our enemy has chosen him as a prime target: it's not coincidental that Bruma is falling under heavy siege. They seek to isolate us." Carolara struggled to keep her hands from fidgeting and lips from stumbling over her words.

"I'll be forward. You sound nothing short of mad, coming to me with a story like that after your... colorful antics in my city."

Ah, there was the nausea again, the Blade noted with a shudder that she couldn't suppress.

"However," the Imperial went on, "Even though you're the only person to come in here with a hopeful tone in weeks, I'm afraid County Leyawiin has very little to spare. We're taking whatever the smugglers manage to get us but I'm not naive enough to think they're doing it out of the kindness of their hearts. My men are being spread thin just trying to keep the Daedra from getting any closer to the city."

She finally dared raise her eyes and straighten her posture, "The enemy has not won yet. If you can spare just three, or four, and a-"

Count Marius raised a hand and the Breton quickly silenced herself. His face was resolute, and so was his tone as he made his decree.

"Of course, your Prince will have our help. I will not have it being said that Leyawiin did not fight with the Empire during its time of need." The aging man sighed, "If we survive this, we will need its support in turn, I am certain of it."

* * *

"First the boycotts and power vacuums in Summerset. Now this. This whole Gate fiasco is going to rip the Empire apart."

Carolara swallowed hard at the Dunmer's outlook. It wasn't exactly the greeting she'd expected when she walked up beside him. Nels was watching what seemed like an innocuous situation some distance away; the smugglers she'd seen before passing out small packets of raw vegetables to any Khajiit that approached and no one else.

"It's pretty clever of them," said the elf. "They're garnering a lot of support that will be useful to them later, and making the Imperial rulers seem completely powerless at the same time."

She tried to counter it with optimism. "I'm sure the Elder Council is doing all it can to find someone that can lead the Imperial Legions through this. People are just frightened right now and will cling to anything they can... once they choose an Emperor, you'll see."

"It's sort of out of the Empire's hands now. The damage has already been done, and not just here." The rogue turned to lean on the castle wall instead, facing her. "They withdrew a lot of troops from Morrowind, you know, not long before it got really bad. People aren't happy about it. Your Prince has his work cut out for him. I'm not envious." His crimson eyes drifted back toward the Renrijra Krin, the city gate closing behind them.

Carolara's hands tensed the second it hit her. She shortened the distance between them, gaze locking with his own, "You... eavesdropping rat."

And Nels didn't look the least bit sorry, almost challenging her with his amused expression, casually running his fingers through his crimson locks. "Now, now, don't turn all spitfire, as fun as that could be, you know you can trust me. I've no interest in seeing the world end, I get nothing out of a deal like that."

"We agreed not to pry into one another's business," she reminded him in low, frustrated tones... for now unable to dispute him.

"Listening is not 'prying'." He lifted a hand to pat the her on the head, but it was swatted away, so the Dark Elf just pushed off the wall instead and began to walk toward the city gates.

The Breton was quick to follow, arms crossed, mostly watching the ground as they proceeded into the swamp. Neither spoke much on the trek. Once at a decent distance from the city they began to set up a place to camp that night, all the while Carolara's mind was running overtime, trying to string together a plan. She would know what Nels Llendo was hiding... she just had to wait for sleep to take him.


End file.
